


British Week At The Bunker

by Imoshen



Series: Six Is Bliss Universe [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angelic Wings, Banter, Bets, Blowjobs, Fluff, Fools in Love, Gabriel is a Tease, Gabriel uses food for seduction, Guns, Ketch gets bent over the Impala, Multi, Pegging, Polyamory, Rowena was scheming, Shower Sex, Top Castiel, Top Dean, Top Gabriel, Top Mick, Top Rowena, Top Sam, Voyeurism, a lot of porn and a little plot, bottom Ketch, case fic chapter, mention of cockwarming, mention of multiple orgasms, use of grace during sex, voyeur Rowena
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:22:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24497152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imoshen/pseuds/Imoshen
Summary: Ketch's week starts off interesting, turns intense, and ends with a surprise. (He's not complaining too much.)Set in the "Six Is Bliss" universe.
Relationships: Arthur Ketch/Dean Winchester, Arthur Ketch/Rowena MacLeod, Arthur Ketch/Sam Winchester, Castiel/Arthur Ketch, Gabriel/Arthur Ketch, Mick Davies/Arthur Ketch, mention of Mick Davies/Arthur Ketch/Rowena MacLeod
Series: Six Is Bliss Universe [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1769866
Comments: 19
Kudos: 26





	1. Rowena

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to the awesome lucibae-is-dancing-in-hell, who cheer-read this along the way. You're an awesome enabler my dear.

The day – hell, the week – starts normal enough. Ketch wakes up to Rowena playing with his hair, a hungry expression on her face. She kisses him as soon as he’s awake, her naked body warm and inviting against his, and well. Ketch’s a gentleman (sometimes) but he’s not an idiot. “Good morning Red,” he murmurs when he lets him up for air, and his voice is rough both from sleep and arousal. “What’d I do to earn this kind of wakeup call?”

She chuckles and lightly scratches her nails over a nipple, making him shiver. “I had a nice dream,” she purrs and kisses him again.

When Rowena nudges his legs apart and settles between his knees, holding up the lube in her slender hand, he grins and spreads his legs wider. His wife is awesome in bed, and so very skilled in the use of a strap-on. He’d be a bloody moron if he refused them both the pleasure.

His witch fingers him open with patience and familiarity and sweet little licks to his growing erection. She ignores his pleas for more with a wicked smirk, then lets him watch as she straps the harness in place, buckles the leather straps until it sits snugly against her hips. Ketch hums and stretches (yes, okay, he’s showing off), eyeing the thick toy she’s attached to the harness.

“Want me to remember you when I sit down today, Red?”

“I always want you to remember me,” she returns, her smirk wide and fucking sexy. “But yes, I want to make sure today.”

The toy slides into him with several slow, gentle thrusts of her slender hips. It’s been a while since he’s been the one to get fucked, and Ketch can’t help the moans with each push in. The stretch just feels so damn good, and he makes a mental note to repeat this as soon as Rowena is willing.

“We’re being a greedy slut, Mr. Ketch,” Rowena purrs. She’s watching where her cock disappears into his hole, and Ketch is a little jealous – with this angle, he has no chance to have a look, himself. Mirror, next time. And a different position.

“Takes one to know one,” he gasps out, and Rowena laughs and stretches up to kiss him. It’s a little difficult because she’s not that tall, but Ketch bends as far as he can, and they make it work like that. The shift in angle has him moan against her mouth, and he can feel her grin.

“Lie back and think of England, darling.”

Her accent has grown thicker, and Ketch moans and complies, stretching his arms above his head to wrap his fingers around the headboard. Rowena makes a soft little noise before she proceeds to fuck him – hard and fast and demanding. She clearly wants to wreck him, and Ketch’s not ashamed to let her. He moans for her like the slut she called him, lets her see and hear how much he enjoys her fucking him… and if that includes fucking him straight through an orgasm that steals his breath, whispering a spell that has him sob out a moan as his dick hardens again for her? Well, he really can’t complain.

He does the same to her given the chance. Minus the magic.

The smirks and the teasing in the kitchen are expected, and Ketch just raises an eyebrow. “Oh please,” he drawls and sips his coffee. “As if nobody in this room would roll over and beg for it if my wife decided it was their turn.”

Dean and Gabriel, who’d been the loudest with the teasing comments, blush and shut up. Sam, who’s drinking his coffee leaning against the wall and doesn’t look as if he’s in the mood to sit down, either, salutes him with his mug. “Well said.”

Castiel isn’t in the kitchen – the seraph has no need for such things as breakfast, and while he likes to sit down with them on lazy mornings he also likes to stretch out in his and Dean’s bed and sleep in. Ketch watches Dean watch him, then leave the kitchen with a certain gleam in his eye and hides his amusement. _That’ll be a good morning to you, Castiel._

Sam at least doesn’t tease him when Ketch hisses softly, sitting down. He’s very glad they’re taking his car with its comfortable seats instead of the Impala. As pretty as she is, he doesn’t want to sit in her today.

“Victim’s house first?” he asks, glancing at Sam. His hunting companion for the day nods, already frowning over his notes.

“I’m guessing they fucked with something they should’ve stayed far away from,” he murmurs, tapping the small book with his pen. “But yeah, closer look is probably a good idea.”

“Your wish is my command,” Ketch teases. Sam laughs as he pulls out of the garage and onto the road.


	2. Sam

Of course, it doesn’t go down as easily as they’d hoped it would. Instead of a vengeful spirit or a summoned ghost, they run afoul of what turns out to be a mother-daughter pair of witches.

It’s all very tragic, a horrible backstory of a rich girl falling in love with a poor boy, having to give up her child for adoption because of her cruel family and the boy dying in an accident on the highway… but Ketch is bruised from a spell throwing him straight through a door, and his sympathy is non-existent after the spells the duo cast on the house have killed not only the cruel parents but also an innocent couple who did nothing wrong except buying a house with nasty curses attached.

Sometimes, the ruthlessness he learned with the British Men of Letters comes in handy.

Digging two graves with a back that’s still sore from the door is _not_ what he considers fun, but neither he nor Sam want to explain to local law-enforcement where the bodies come from. They’re both sweaty, dirty and sore, and their clothes stink. Sam insisted on salting and burning the bodies to be certain they won’t cause any more trouble, and Ketch agreed, but the stench is… well.

Finding a shower and a bed somewhere sounds better than driving back all the way to the bunker for half the night, so that’s what they do. Ketch vetoes the cheapest options Sam points out first because he’ll put up with a lot but that’s where he draws the line. Sam stops grumbling when he sees the clean bathroom and the shower that’s big enough even for him. (Ketch might be just a little smug about that.)

Since they both reek and neither has the patience to stand in the open doorway and wait until the other is done to keep the whole room from reeking once they’re done, they squeeze under the showerhead together. It’s not that bad – they can take turns under the spray with a little maneuvering, and the hot water does miracles for Ketch’s aching back. He can’t help the pained hiss when he raises his hands to wash the shampoo out of his hair, though.

“Still hurt?” Sam asks from where he’s working his fingers through his hair. Ketch nods, gritting his teeth to finish his task. He only answers once he’s lowered his arms again.

“Digging two graves didn’t help with the bruising.”

Sam makes a sound of agreement, then his hands – warm from the shower – come to rest on Ketch’s shoulders. “Let me? The digging was my idea, after all.”

“Wasn’t a _wrong_ idea,” Ketch murmurs, but the temptation of a Sam Winchester back rub is too much. “Please feel free.”

Sam does, and at first Ketch has to grit his teeth because _fuck_ , that hurts. But Sam’s skilled, and after a while the noises he pulls from Ketch’s throat are groans of appreciation as Sam massages tension out of his muscles that he didn’t even notice was there. The firm touch eventually turns into long, slow strokes up and down Ketch’s back, and he sighs and lets his head sink against his forearms where they’re braced against the shower wall. The remaining adrenaline in his blood, the hot water and the gentle touch join forces, arousal simmering low in his blood. He’s not too surprised when Sam’s hands drift lower and over his ass. “Can I?” Sam murmurs against his ear, stepping close enough Ketch can feel his erection brush his hip. He hums.

“Lube?”

The hand on his ass flexes. “Of course,” Sam tells him with a snort. “Always prepared. I _am_ married to Gabe.”

Ketch laughs, stretches. “What, no mojo’d-up stuff?”

“Not always, no.” Sam’s hands leave, and there’s a brief gust of cool air as he opens the shower door. Then his hands are back, as is the rest of him. Ketch hums as Sam gently nudges him into spreading his legs far enough that he can reach between his cheeks. Slick fingers nudge against his entrance, slide in slow and gentle. Ketch’s sigh deepens into a moan.

Sam is slow and gentle with him, obviously rather exhausted, too. He mouths at Ketch’s neck while working him open, and the first push inside once he’s satisfied Ketch is open enough is almost glacially slow. If Ketch wasn’t feeling as lazy as he is, he’d probably curse at Sam… but he has to admit, this is nice.

Sam’s arms wrap around him, one hand drifting down to Ketch’s erection to wrap around it, and it feels almost like a dream – the warm water, the steam from the shower, the slow, gentle pace. Ketch has no idea how long they stand like that, Sam rocking into him gently, one hand wrapped around his cock to stroke at the same slow, lazy pace. His orgasm builds slowly, too, a wave he can feel build and roll closer before it breaks, leaving him drained but sated in Sam’s arms. Sam’s moan sounds surprised as his hold on Ketch tightens for a second, and Ketch makes a content sound and clenches around the thick length, feeling it twitch as Sam comes.

Sam is obviously just as drained as Ketch, but he still cleans them up with a few quick touches before they stumble out of the shower, toweling dry (or, well. Semi-dry.) before they crash into bed.

Sam winds his long limbs around Ketch and pulls him in, and Ketch yawns and allows it. Falling asleep is easier than it used to be after a hunt.

There’s something to be said for being with family.


	3. Dean

It’s the first time Ketch begins to suspect his strange family has held a vote and decided it’s his turn to get fucked this week… because Rowena, well, they do that. Sam felt right, and it was nice to have a gentle end to a hunt.

Dean… well. Ketch might not have suspected anything, but Dean usually doesn’t like having anyone with him on the range when he’s practicing. (Well. Except for Sam and Cas, both of whom Ketch very obviously isn’t.) So when he ends up bent over the hood of the Impala, Dean’s cock in his ass, he starts to suspect.

That morning starts as normal as a day in the bunker usually starts. Rowena is busy with some kind of ritual that needs specific things done at specific times and is gone from their bed before Ketch is even awake, Sam and Gabriel are sharing a chair at breakfast and are being incredibly sweet with each other, and Dean is teasing Sam endlessly about the Archangel in his lap.

Ketch sits and drinks his Earl Grey and wonders when, exactly, this started to feel like home.

Castiel, Sam and Gabriel are planning to go out on a case again today, one involving what might be a surviving Pagan. Gabriel apparently hopes he’ll be able to talk some sense into the Pagan, and from everything Ketch’s heard and since joining this mad little family, he might be the only one capable of doing that. He raises an eyebrow at Dean when the hunting party finally leaves the kitchen. “Got other plans?”

Dean snorts. “Don’t have the patience for that crap. Thing’s been fucking up human lives, I think they earned their messy end. But to Gabe, they were friends once. So I’m staying away from that mess, so I don’t get the sad face after.”

Ketch salutes him with his almost empty coffee mug and then drains it, making a face as he realizes the remaining coffee was almost cold. “Smart man. I’m going to go shoot at paper targets for a while, best way not to interrupt or annoy my wife.”

Dean perks up. “Want company?”

That’s unusual in that Dean usually likes shooting alone, but it’s been a while since he’s had anyone but Sam join him on the range. He misses having competition, and Dean is a good shot. “Sure.”

Being on a shooting range, even when he’s dressed casual in jeans and t-shirt, always brings back a little of the mindset Kendricks drilled into him. It’s why, when Dean taps him on the shoulder after the first few rounds and asks, “Wanna make a bet on the next round?” he agrees immediately – and doesn’t ask what Dean thinks should be the winner’s spoils.

He regrets that decision when they inspect the paper targets, because while it’s a meager two points by which Dean wins – Dean wins. He sighs and makes sure his gun’s magazine is empty, and the safety is on, before he leans against the stand and raises an eyebrow at Dean. “So, what do I owe you? Six pack? Burger and pie?”

Dean grins at him, wide and happy. “Tempting, but no.” He crowds up against Ketch, hands on his hips, a knee pushing between his legs. “I want to fuck you, Art,” is purred against his ear. “Without the fight we usually have about that. Just you, bending over for me and letting me have that hot ass.”

Ketch blinks at that, though his body certainly isn’t opposed. Dean’s using that low, rough voice that means he’s thinking naughty thoughts, and Ketch’s not ashamed to admit it works on him every time. “Not in the mood for me to put you on your back, Winchester?” he drawls, smirking. He and Dean _can_ do soft and gentle, but more often than not, that’s when someone else of their family is involved. When it’s them, alone, who’s on top is usually decided via who manages to pin the other down long enough to get them to yield.

“No,” Dean agrees, and snatches Ketch’s wrists where he was moving to grab Dean’s ass. “We can go back to fighting it out next time.”

They will, they always do, but Ketch isn’t in the mood to end up bent over on the range. Aside from the part where being here always reminds him of shooting drills back in England, it feels a little too dangerous to fuck around with weapons within close reach. He bites the inside of his cheek and thinks. Counter offer, counter offer… oh.

“How about I play bikini girl and give your pretty car a wax job?” he offers, grinning when Dean immediately looks up. “I heard you bitching about how she needs one.”

“I don’t _bitch_ ,” Dean protests, but the gears are obviously turning. “Naked?”

“If you insist,” Ketch agrees. “And the garage is warm enough. I don’t fancy freezing my bollocks off, Dean.”

That earns him a laugh. “I’ll turn up the heat,” Dean promises, then drags Ketch down into a filthy kiss involving tongue and teeth. “One hour, Brit Boy. Be on time.”

Ketch bites him just for that. “I always am,” he informs Dean even as he slips out of his hold and remembers to snatch up his gun before he leaves the range. 

_Next time, you’re setting down the terms and conditions before you agree to any kind of bet._

Dean keeps his word, and the garage is warm and cozy when Ketch walks in an hour later. There’s even a makeshift partition around the Impala, creating a smaller space heated by one of the portable gas heaters. Dean’s waiting for him next to the car, smirking fit to give the Cheshire Cat a run for its money. “That’s not naked,” is his greeting, and Ketch raises an eyebrow.

“No, but I wasn’t about to march through the bunker naked,” he informs the cheeky brat. “Dressing gowns exist for a reason, you heathen.”

Once the thick cloth Dean hung from the ceiling is pulled closed behind him, it’s really comfortably warm around the Impala, and Ketch sighs and sheds his dressing gown, draping it over a chair. “Hand me the wax.”

Dean hands over tin and cloth with a smirk, and Ketch goes to work. He tries not to imagine how ridiculous he must look, stark naked (except for his shoes, because the floor is still icy and he’s not suffering the indignity of cold feet) and waxing Dean’s beloved Impala. He has to admit though, she _is_ a beautiful car, and applying the wax to her shining black paint is almost meditative. It also _is_ a little arousing to feel Dean’s unwavering gaze on him as he works.

He’s so engrossed in what he’s doing that he jerks when suddenly, there’s a warm weight draped over his back, Dean’s mouth at his ear. “Fuck, do you have any idea how hot you look?” Dean’s voice is a raspy mess. “Shit, thought bending you over the range was sexy but you’re even hotter like this.”

Ketch blinks, trying to gather his wits. It doesn’t help that Dean’s erection is rubbing against his ass through the man’s jeans, and the hand reaching down to cup and stroke his own cock doesn’t help _at all_. Ketch hisses and realizes he’s pinned between Dean’s body and the car. _Fuck._

Dean shuffles a little behind him, his belt clinks, and then it’s skin against skin, Dean’s cock a hot line against Ketch’s ass. He stiffens in alarm, because he’s not ready for that - and Dean nips his shoulder. “Relax,” he murmurs. “Not gonna fuck you dry.”

Wet fingertips rub over his hole, and Ketch moans. “Dirty… cheat!”

Dean laughs. “Takes one to know one,” he replies as he sets to working Ketch open quickly but thoroughly. His fingers feel so damn good, and Ketch gives in with a moan and spreads his legs further, allows Dean to bend him down over the hood of the car until he’s almost cheek-to-metal. The position _is_ arousing in itself, and Dean’s clever fingers in his ass drag needy sounds out of him within moments. 

“That’s more like it,” Dean murmurs behind him, spreading him open on merciless fingers. Ketch gasps out a moan and tries to glare over his shoulder, but Dean’s too damn good at this. He settles for clenching around Dean’s fingers instead.

“Stop talking and fuck me, Winchester!”

“Greedy,” Dean admonishes. Ketch growls, but then Dean’s fingers slide free and are replaced by his cock, and breathing takes up all of Ketch’s brainpower for a moment. Dean’s a lot thicker than his fingers were, and the low ache is _perfect_.

Dean doesn’t make him wait more than a few heartbeats, and goes for hard and fast immediately. That’s fine with Ketch, who braces himself on the Impala’s shiny hood and pushes back as good as he gets. He’s vaguely aware he’s making a lot of noise, but he’s beyond giving a shit. 

Dean’s always been able to reduce him to wordless noises. Only now they’re more often moans of pleasure than angry growls.

Dean's cock hits his sweet spot dead-on with the next thrust in, and Ketch gasps in a breath, giving a full-body shiver. “Harder!”

“Greedy bastard,” Dean teases, but he fucks him harder. “Don’t you dare mess up my Baby.”

Ketch grits his teeth and clings to the remains of his control as Dean fucks him, picking up his pace. It’s almost brutal by now and it'd be so fucking easy to just let go… but it’s not worth the bitching. Still, Ketch moans in needy jealousy when Dean growls a curse and jerks behind him, spilling hot wetness into his hole. His cock aches, his legs tremble… and Dean pulls out and manhandles him onto his back, winking at him before he drops to his knees. He swallows Ketch's cock at the same time as he pushes into his wet, abused hole with three fingers, going unerringly for the prostate.

Ketch screams as his orgasm drags him under.


	4. Gabriel

Ketch was used to being the one called in when the shit had already hit the fan, the one to clean up a mess or go in when others had failed. He was the assassin, or the soldier. He was seldom the one who had the time to do research, and if he did it was about an actual, current case and not something that interested him just because.

Since he told the old guard of the British Men of Letters exactly where they could stick their rules and joined forces with the Winchesters, a lot of that has changed. He’s still no Sam, who sometimes pulls the most obscure bit of information out of thin air (or so it seems to Ketch), but he’s found he enjoys spending a day in the library, going through ancient tomes and more recent research as he follows the trail of information and mis-information to maybe find the truth behind a myth. 

He’s been doing that today, since Rowena is still busy with her spells and the Winchester brothers are out spending a little family time on a hunt. (The reports all pointed towards a vengeful spirit, which is something Sam and Dean can handle by themselves perfectly well.)

The big table he’s claimed is a carefully arranged mess of books, scrolls and his laptop, all in a semi-circle around his notepad and the mess of notes he’ll have to re-write in a more linear fashion later. A glance at the clock tells him he’s been at it for more than half the day when the door opens and Gabriel peeks in. “Still alive, Ketchum?”

“Don’t make me shoot you,” Ketch mutters, busy copying down another reference to yet another book he’ll probably have to hunt down on the shelves. (One day, he and Sam are going to rearrange this damn library in a way that actually makes sense and means they’ll find the book they need without having to consult three different catalogues and potentially perform a ritual sacrifice for a minor deity. Of course, demons might start wearing flower crowns and start helping humans in need around the same time.)

“You’re no fun,” Gabriel pouts, it’s obvious in his voice, and Ketch sighs and caps his pen before looking up. Yep, there’s the pout, and the damn Archangel shouldn’t look so cute when he does that. He’s an (almost) almighty being, for fuck’s sake!

“I am fun,” Ketch informs the Archangel. “I just don’t accept you making fun of my name the way Sam does.”

Gabriel’s pout dissolves into a wide grin. “Sam’s just given up,” he admits before nudging the door open wider to reveal he’s letting a tray float behind him. As he comes closer, Ketch can smell the buttery scent of fresh scones, the sour-sweetness of a good strawberry jam, and what seems to be his favorite Darjeeling. he raises an eyebrow as the tray floats over to an empty table and settles down with soft clinks of tableware. Gabriel smiles. “I thought tea time was still a fine British tradition?”

“It is,” Ketch agrees, and his stomach certainly remembers he hasn’t eaten anything since breakfast, about eight hours ago. He abandons his research in favor for the table with the tray. “Did you pop over to England for those?”

Gabriel draws himself up in mock-affront. “Did I pop over to England for those! I _made_ them myself, I’ll have you know, after a recipe the Queen’s own baker shared.”

Ketch is impressed, and after he’s practically inhaled a scone and a half, he says so. He also does his best to savor the second half. Gabriel beams at him, then frowns when Ketch rolls his shoulders to try and get rid of the tension hours of reading brought on. “Let me help with that?”

Ketch blinks, then shrugs. “If you want to,” he agrees, pouring another cup of Darjeeling. He should’ve remembered to bring more than a single bottle of water.

Gabriel’s hands settle on his shoulders, hot through the shirt Ketch is wearing. The Archangel is always hot to the touch, and while that’s not so great during hot summer nights, it’s a great help in getting his stubborn muscles to relax. 

Ketch blinks when Gabriel’s hands slide around to undo the buttons of his shirt with a flick of grace. “Gabriel?”

“Ssh,” the Archangel tugs the shirt off his shoulders and lays his hands on naked skin, making Ketch shiver. “I’m trying to seduce you.”

“Ah,” Ketch makes, trying not to purr as strong fingers dig into his muscles and spread warmth. “And I’m guessing you want to bend me over this table?”

“If you want me to,” Gabriel agrees. His fingers stroke up Ketch’s neck and into the short hair at his nape. “I’d be happy with having you on your back on this table, too. Or the floor. Or we could move this to the couch.”

Ketch needs a moment to manage an answer, because Gabriel’s hands are now stroking down his chest and that’s distracting as fuck, mostly because the Archangel is cheating and using his grace to make the places he’s touched tingle even after his fingers are gone. “Gabriel,” he finally drawls, “did you and everyone else in this bunker decide I needed to get fucked by everyone this week, or is that coincidence?”

Gabriel laughs and hugs him from behind - with his arms, _and_ with his wings. Ketch sucks in a breath as silky feathers stroke his skin. “Not so much a coincidence,” the Archangel admits close to his ear. “Your lovely wife decided you deserved to be a little spoiled this week.”

Well, if that is her intent, Rowena certainly found the right people to do it. Ketch moans in surprise when Gabriel’s fingers start playing with his nipples and the damn tingling only gets stronger with each touch. He bites his lower lip and leans back into Gabriel, relaxing. “Then seduce away,” he invites and grins when Gabriel takes him at his word. The strength hiding in the deceptively short form is another turn-on, but Ketch won’t admit that to Gabriel anytime soon. (The man’s ego doesn’t need any more stroking.) Still, he’s pretty sure Gabriel notices how much Ketch likes it when he easily pulls him up from his chair and lays him out on the table, safely away from the leftovers of their tea. His breath catches in his throat when he gets his first glimpse at Gabriel - all six wings out and stretched wide behind him, his eyes glowing a little golden with arousal, he’s a sight to behold. That he’s standing between _Ketch’s_ legs… ( _his_ ego doesn’t need any more stroking, either.)

Gabriel seems to be in the mood to drive him almost-mad with pleasure, because he takes his sweet time in stroking his hands all over Ketch, trailing kisses all over his upper body as he uses those teasing tingly fingers to peel him out of his jeans. Something tugs at his boots, and Ketch laughs into Gabriel’s mouth as they slide off his feet without a single touch. Sometimes, angelic grace is really great. 

His laughter dies quickly when Gabriel strokes his legs up and around the Archangel’s hips, and soft feathers brush his skin. They leave the same tingling in their wake as Gabriel’s fingers do, and Ketch is soon writhing in place, not sure if he wants more or wants to squirm away - and that is before Gabriel’s fingers run down his side and between his cheeks to trail teasing touches over the sensitive skin of his hole. The Trickster applies a little more pressure and Ketch chokes on a moan at the sudden slick glide of a finger into his body. “Dirty cheat,” he manages to gasp out, which only makes Gabriel laugh at him - and rub a firm caress over his prostate. Ketch yelps a curse and arches.

“Trickster,” Gabriel corrects with a grin, letting off of the pressure. Ketch gasps in air and concentrates on not making a fool of himself by begging the Archangel for more. Gabriel’s fingers still leave tingling in their wake. It’s more than distracting now, more than teasing. Despite the fingers sliding into him, Ketch feels empty in a way that aches, but he grits his teeth against the pleas wanting to spill. (Gabriel’s ego still doesn’t need more stroking.)

Of course, the Archangel doesn’t let him off that easy. Out of all of them, Gabriel has the longest history of sexual escapades and if he sets his mind to it, he can make them all beg. Ketch is no exception, and all it takes are skilled fingers just skirting past his prostate on every push in, every slide out, the pace maddeningly slow, that teasing tingle of grace waking up every single nerve ending he has. Ketch loses his sense of time within the first few slides in and out, but a tiny part of him not yet lost to pleasure hopes he held out more than a minute before he starts to beg Gabriel for “more, please Gabriel!” with every breath he takes. His body is writhing in the Archangel’s hold, feathers brushing his skin, and he _needs_ , he wants… a firm touch glides over his prostate, and Ketch arches with it and moans. Then he whines when those wonderful fingers slide out, leave him open and empty and aching with need. Gabriel’s mouth brushes over his as he’s pulled in tighter, and the Trickster doesn’t tease anymore. Instead, it’s a slow, long push in that stretches Ketch’s hole around his cock and draws a deep, hungry moan out of him that’s echoed by the Archangel. Gabriel’s wings close around them, blocking out most of the lights, but Ketch doesn’t care. The golden and bronze feathers blur as he arches and pants and tries to get Gabriel to move, “please, please move, fuck me damnit please!”

Gabriel laughs against his cheek. “Such a polite request,” he teases, but his hands hold Ketch steady as he complies and starts to move, giving Ketch just a taste of the strength hiding in his body. Each slow thrust in rocks him into Gabriel’s hold, makes his cock twitch on his belly, his hole cling to the cock hitting his prostate with such precision. He’s not sure how he’s not yet come, doesn’t care, either. Feathers brush his skin, Gabriel’s hands hold him tight, warm lips brush his mouth, his cheek, his throat as the Archangel fucks all thoughts out of his brain and the breath out of his lungs. He’s dimly aware he’s still whispering a litany of “please, please harder,” when he’s not being kissed, but even that isn’t important any longer.

Orgasm is both a surprise and something he can feel building for what might be hours. Gabriel’s pace doesn’t so much pick up as get more intense, the Archangel’s kisses hungrier until Ketch arches into his hold and sobs out his orgasm, spilling hot and wet over his belly. Then, Gabriel groans low and deep and tightens his grip, fucking into him with several harder, faster thrusts of his hips before there’s a spill of hot wetness inside his hole. Ketch moans softly and manages to tighten his legs around Gabriel to hold him close. 

He’s exhausted, his body is still twitching and tingling, and he wants nothing more than to curl up in a comfortable bed and nap for a few hours.

“Great idea,” Gabriel murmurs against his ear. Ketch flinches when air rushes past them, then laughs tiredly when he finds himself in his own bed, an Archangel draped over him. 

His cock twitches a little when he notices Gabriel’s still inside him, but he’s not sixteen anymore. Sleep rushes up to claim him, and the last thing he hears is a murmured, “now you’re properly spoiled.”


	5. Castiel

Ketch wakes up slowly and stretches. His body is still deliciously loose and relaxed from Gabriel’s seduction the day before, but he can tell immediately the Archangel isn’t in bed with him anymore. Neither is his wife, and he frowns as he tries to remember what Rowena told him about the ritual she’s working on. He doesn’t recall her ever mentioning something that takes so long, but he’s also not a witch.

“You are thinking too much already,” a low voice comments. Ketch blinks his eyes open and looks at Castiel where he’s stretched out across from him. The seraph looks rather more relaxed than usual, but that might be because he’s not wearing his usual trenchcoat and suit. In fact, even his tie is missing. Ketch appreciates the sight and with Gabriel’s admission from yesterday, he doesn’t have to guess why there’s another angel in his bed this morning. 

“So I’m not allowed to think?” he asks, only half-joking. His wife wants him spoiled, and apparently also distracted. Maybe he should start looking into what sort of ritual takes so long, just to be on the safe side…

“Thinking is allowed,” Castiel rumbles, amusement clear in his eyes and voice. “But not about what Rowena is up to. Trust your wife, Arthur.”

Ketch closes his eyes and groans, hiding his face in his pillow. “Please, Castiel. If you absolutely have to use my given name, use the short form.”

“Ah yes, I am sorry.” Castiel’s wings rustle as he shifts. “I got used to Sam’s preference, I will get used to yours in time.”

Ketch hums and stretches again just to feel the delicious soreness Gabriel left behind. “You can make it up to me and give me a hint,” he murmurs. Castiel huffs amusement. 

“I am not fool enough to go against our resident witch’s orders,” is his answer, and the mattress dips as Castiel shifts. Ketch sighs as strong hands stroke down his back, taking the blanket with them. “Making it up to you, however? That, I can do.”

He really shouldn’t be surprised about that, Ketch muses as he allows Castiel to roll him onto his back. Rowena is formidable when she’s irritated, nobody wants to see what happens when she’s truly angry. Hell hath no fury indeed. 

“Stop thinking,” Castiel murmurs close against his ear, and Ketch smirks and stretches out, opening his eyes again to peer up at the angel. 

“Make me,” he challenges, feeling playful. Castiel laughs, settling himself over Ketch. His black wings block out the rest of the room, and Ketch can’t suppress the shiver at the sight. 

“I think I know just what you need,” Castiel tells him, using both hands to nudge Ketch’s knees apart so he can kneel between his legs. “Gabriel was all sweet and gentle with you yesterday, right? You need it a little harder than that.”

Ketch grins. “Do I?” he murmurs. “I should probably ask my wife about that… along with what the hell she’s doing that’s taking her a whole week.”

Castiel isn’t goaded into rashness that easily. (He _is_ in a relationship with Dean Winchester. Goading is a normal part of his day.) “We’ll see about you still being able to string words together after I’m done,” he promises. Then he bends down and takes Ketch’s cock in his mouth without any warning whatsoever, and Ketch gasps and arches up into the wet warmth. 

“Fuck!”

Castiel pulls off long enough to grin at him. “Maybe,” he agrees before his mouth is on Ketch again, sucking and licking and doing a great job at making all the blood in his body rush to his cock. Ketch grits his teeth against the onslaught and tries to control his breathing, appear unaffected despite the rapidly hardening erection Castiel is sucking on. 

“So, what kind of ritual are we considering?” he manages to ask, almost at his normal tone of voice. “Must be something intense.”

Castiel retaliates by scraping his teeth along sensitive skin as he pulls off to glare at Ketch. “You are far too coherent,” he growls. Ketch grins.

“I _was_ trained to withstand all kinds of interrogation tactics,” he informs the angel. “Go ahead, I’ll be thinking about what rituals can be combined that might last this long _gggah_!”

Castiel plays dirty, Ketch manages to think with the last few brain cells that aren’t busy melting. He must’ve picked up on Gabriel’s tricks, because the fingers he just pushed into Ketch are slick and warm, and meet no resistance at all as they slide in deep. 

“That’s better,” Castiel rumbles, and Ketch moans as fingers stretch him open and stroke and rub against all the sensitive spots inside. “Now, where was I?”

The hot mouth goes back to sucking on his cock, the fingers in his hole keep pace with it, and Ketch can’t even pretend at coherency anymore. Not when Castiel plays his body so well, where he’s already sore from days of his lovers taking him apart each in their own way. All he can do is cling to the sheets and moan for the angel between his legs.

Castiel keeps him on the edge for what feels like a small eternity, just enough to keep teasing but never enough to let him fall, until there’s not a single thought left in Ketch’s brain but the need to come. _Then_ , the damn angel pulls his mouth off Ketch’s cock and licks it once before smirking up at him. 

“I told you we’d see about you stringing words together,” he says, his voice even rougher than before. Ketch just groans in reply, his hips arching up as Castiel’s fingers push in deep and stay there, holding him open and pinned. “Want to come down my throat, Ketch?”

“ _Fuck yes_ ,” Ketch rasps, blinking dazedly at the ceiling. “Please, Cas!”

“Still too coherent,” Castiel decides, and Ketch very nearly screams as his cock is swallowed to the root. Damn the angel and his utter lack of a gag reflex. 

When Castiel finally, _finally_ lets him come with a hard rub over his prostate and a firm suck on his cock, Ketch does scream. There’s no way to call it anything else. He comes down Castiel’s throat with a scream, and when Castiel lets go of him he pants for breath, a limp, sated mess. The angel smirks even as he stretches out next to Ketch, covering him with a wing. “That’s a lot better.”

Ketch groans, but can’t be bothered to do anything else. “Fuck you, too.”

Castiel laughs. “Maybe later,” he agrees, and Ketch hisses as his cock twitches in interest. He musters the strength to roll over and curl into Cas, and goes back to sleep like that.

He doesn’t think about Rowena or what kind of ritual she’s involved in after his nap, either. Castiel is still there, and he’s more than willing to play… and if Ketch ends up on his back again, the seraph buried deep in his body? Well, he’s the one who got two orgasms out of the deal.


	6. Mick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last scene of this happens just before chapter two of "Six Is Bliss".

Ketch wakes to an empty bed again, and this time there’s no angel waiting for him. He groans his way out of bed and into a hot shower, then goes to find a cup of strong black coffee. The kitchen is empty when he arrives, but he’s just put his hand on the coffee still in the pot when Rowena walks in.

She looks exhausted, so Ketch quietly opens his arms and feels something in his chest that knotted itself into a tight ball relax when she smiles and walks right into his embrace, resting her head on his shoulder. (He always forgets how tiny she is. Her presence is so much bigger than her physical body, but when she’s like this, tucked into his arms and allowing herself to be vulnerable, he’s reminded how much stronger, how much bigger he is than her.)

“I’m not going to ask,” Ketch murmurs. “Just tell me you’re fine, Red.”

“I’m fine,” she promises, her words heavier than usual with a Scottish burr. It’s charming, and another indicator she’s exhausted. “And I’ll show you what I was up to, I promise. Just… tea.”

They share a mug between them, Rowena leaning against his chest again. He can feel her stand straighter as she drinks her share, and when the mug is empty, she looks up at him with more color in her cheeks. “How much do you trust me, darling?”

It’s a strange question at this point in their lives, but Ketch doesn’t have to think about it anymore. “With my soul,” he tells her and watches as she lights up with a smile. She doesn’t answer, just takes his hand and leads him down the hallways and deeper into the bunker.

“I had a favor I called in,” she tells him as they walk down a hallway he rarely uses. “It took a little time, and then… well. You’ll see. But I want you to know that we don’t owe anybody for this.”

Ketch nods, though he’s a little confused. Rowena leads the way to a door he thinks is one of the unused guest quarters and throws him a glance he can’t quite interpret before she opens the door and steps aside. “I’ll come in when you want me to,” she says before nudging him in. That really doesn’t help with the confusion - until Ketch turns from the door being closed behind him again and looks at the man perched on the foot of the bed.

He thought he knew what it felt like to have your heart pause for a beat before it decides to keep going. He thought he knew what it felt like to have the world change everything on you within a single of those pauses.

He was wrong.

“Hello Ketch,” Mick Davies greets him, a wry smile on his face. “Long time no see.”

Mick’s not quite sure what he anticipated Ketch’s reaction to be. What he is sure about, right in the moment it happens, is that he didn’t expect for the other man to take two steps closer and then sink to his knees in a move so controlled, so graceful, he knows it’s not a fall. Ketch swallows hard, looking up at him, and there’s so much regret on his face.

Ketch never used to be this expressive.

“Mick,” and that’s a waver in his voice. “God, Mick - I’m so bloody sorry!”

Ketch never used to apologize for anything, either. Mick knew a lot of things had changed, saw some of them for himself in ways he doesn’t want to think about right now. (Hell is Hell, he learned that early on. Not everything you learn there is truth.)

This might be a change he likes more than he knew.

“You followed an order,” he says and watches the man flinch. That won’t do, so he stands and walks over to where Ketch is still kneeling on the floor. Ketch doesn’t move except to raise his head higher to keep looking at him (and baring his throat, a part of Mick that used to be tightly leashed notices. Interesting.)

“I remember how it was, Art.” Mick keeps his voice low and soothing. “Follow the rules, obey the orders, even if it means going against all your instincts. I’m just glad you broke free of that bullshit.”

“Not soon enough,” Ketch mutters, but he doesn’t flinch back when Mick reaches out. He closes his eyes with a soft sigh when Mick strokes his fingers through messy black hair, a gesture that was once familiar. “Mick, how the fuck are you here?”

“Your witch is a sly one,” Mick says and keeps running his fingers through Ketch’s hair. “We all know where we’re headed, with the kind of shit we did. Her son is the King of Hell these days… easy to pull someone from the ranks. And there’s a ritual to cure the… demon-y tendencies Hell leaves behind. Took a few days, and I might have been a little rude to your lady.”

That drags a laugh out of Ketch. “She’s heard worse,” and he says it with such confidence that Mick has to laugh, too. He stops stroking Ketch’s hair and looks down at him, bared throat and closed eyes and all, and he really doesn’t want to dwell on what it took to be able to stand here again. What he wants is a lot better than that. 

“If I try to kiss you, will you bite?”

It’s the same thing Ketch said to him, years and years ago back at Kendricks, and it surprises a choked-off laugh out of Ketch. “No,” he whispers, but doesn’t move as Mick bends down to brush his mouth over those parted lips. It’s as if that contact convinces him Mick’s really there, because Mick barely has time to pull back and see Ketch’s eyes are wide open now before there are hands grabbing at his clothing, almost tearing seams as Ketch hauls him down and into a harder, hungrier kiss. Mick laughs and tightens his fingers in Ketch’s hair, holds him still and gives back as good as he gets.

The sound Ketch makes when Mick finally breaks their kiss to get some air goes straight to his cock, needy and just a little desperate. He nips at lips that are already reddening and noticeably plumper. “Haven’t seen you that desperate in a while,” he murmurs, smirking.

“That’s you, you bastard.” Ketch’s voice is a low rumble, his hands still gripping Mick’s clothes. Holding him in place. “Fuck, I thought I’d never have you again.”

A shiver runs down Mick’s spine at the thought of Ketch on top of him again, but he had plans for how this was going to go, and he’s not giving them up. He smirks and uses the grip in Ketch’s hair to pull his head back, bare his throat further. “Who says you’re getting to have me?” he asks in a low purr. “You fucked your way through quite a few beds, Art… and you got married on me. Maybe I’m feeling a little like reminding you who had you first.”

Ketch groans, which is expected, then laughs, which is not. “Seems to be a week then,” he murmurs and moves his head a little to pull against Mick’s hold. His eyes flutter shut as he moans. “Be gentle with me, Micky. I’m sore as hell.”

“Oh?” Mick complies with the unspoken request and pulls a little harder on his handful of hair, watching as another shiver runs down Ketch’s body. “Did you have a little fun last week, Ketch?”

“Define a little,” Ketch snarks, then moans when Mick lightly tugs on his hair again. “Fuck…”

“Yes, we’ll get to that, too,” Mick promises with a grin. “Up with you.”

Ketch sways once he’s on his feet, looking adorably dazed. Mick’s cock twitches again, and he sees no reason why he shouldn’t kiss him some more. It results in Ketch leaning heavily against him, looking even more dazed than before. Mick smirks a little and guides them over to the narrow bed. “Since when are you so easy to fluster, Art?”

He should’ve known better, but in his defense, it _has_ been a long time. The languid body in his arms suddenly tenses, and before he can react he’s on his back on the bed, a dishevelled but grinning Ketch kneeling over him. “You walked right into that one, Mick.”

Of course the man still fights dirty, Mick muses as he tests the strength of Ketch’s grip on him. “Remind me to invest in a good pair of handcuffs for you.” 

Ketch grins and leans down close enough he could kiss Mick again. “If you ask nicely, I’ll share mine.”

Mick closes the distance between them for another kiss instead of answering, then wraps his legs around Ketch’s waist to arch up into him. It earns him a moan and the chance to flip them over as Ketch’s hold on him relaxes, though it’s a near thing. Ketch growls at him as he pins him to the bed. “Be good,” Mick orders softly. “Or I will tie you to the bed with your shirt, Art.”

Ketch straining against his hold is not helping his concentration at all, but it makes his dick very happy indeed. Mick leans more of his weight onto Ketch’s pinned wrists and growls back when Art bares his teeth at him. “One way or another, you’re mine this time,” he informs the other man. “I thought you wanted me to be gentle with you?”

“I want you to be gentle with my ass,” Ketch clarifies, bucking up. They both groan when that move rocks their dicks together. “You know we love this.”

Mick nods, flexing his grip on Ketch’s wrists. He wants the other man naked, to get his hands on skin he hasn’t touched in too long, but not at the cost of having to wrestle him down again. “Compromise,” he offers. “You get to be on top, I get to have your ass.”

Ketch moans and goes limp and pliant beneath him. “Now _that_ ’s playing dirty,” he protests, but when Mick experimentally releases one wrist all he does is reach for Mick’s shirt. “Be a good Irish bastard and get naked, Micky.”

“Pompous English asshole,” Mick mutters, but he’s grinning as he releases Ketch’s other wrist to do the same. Ketch’s dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, which is a look Mick didn’t get to see him in more than a few times. He wouldn’t mind seeing it more often, but right now he wants naked skin and nothing else. Going by Ketch’s hands on him, stripping him of his own clothes with impatient tugs, he’s not alone in this. As soon as he’s kicked off his jeans, and Mick has thrown both their shirts off the bed, he’s pulled down and into another kiss as greedy hands run over his back. He doesn’t resist when Ketch rolls them over, then groans protest when their kiss ends with Ketch sitting up. That _is_ a sight he could get used to again. 

Ketch laughs when he says just that, and leans back to let Mick look his fill. “That can be arranged.”

“Your lovely wife won’t mind?” Mick asks, reaching out to stroke his hands down Ketch’s chest and belly. There are a few scars he wasn’t around to see when they were fresh, but otherwise Ketch’s body hasn’t changed. 

“His lovely wife doesn’t mind at all, sweetheart,” comes Rowena’s voice. Mick flinches and turns to look, not having heard her enter the room. Rowena smirks at him and leans back in her seat. Her skirt is pulled up around her waist, her blouse open to reveal creamy skin and full breasts she’s currently playing with. “Mind an audience?”

“Fuck no,” Mick groans just as Ketch laughs. 

“Welcome anytime, Red,” his lover tells her, shifting so he’s straddling Mick’s lap. “Micky, c’mon, stop teasing.”

“I haven’t even started to tease,” Mick informs him. “I thought they fucked the greedy out of you last week?”

Ketch moans prettily when Mick grabs his ass with one hand and wraps his fingers around his erection. Mick strokes a few times before letting go, reaching beneath the pillow to retrieve the lube he’d stashed in hopes of this reunion working out this way. It feels a little like being back at Kendricks, or later when they worked a job together. He wants to take his time with Ketch, touch and stroke and feel him warm and alive under his hands, but the need to _feel_ him, claim him again, is stronger for the moment. Ketch snorts when he sees the bottle in Mick’s hand. 

“Someone was confident, I see.”

“Brat,” Mick squeezes the handful he still has and grins when Ketch groans. “I remember what you like, Art.”

“Good,” Ketch moans, widening his knees to give him more room without prompting. “Get on with it before I switch this around again.”

The best answer Mick has to that is to slick up his fingers and reach around Ketch to stroke lube over his entrance. It earns him a full-body shiver and a low moan, and he smirks at what he finds. 

“Oh yes, you got fucked good,” he murmurs. “You’re still a little open, Art.”

To his amazement, Arthur Ketch _blushes_ above him, even as he rocks back into the touch. “Mick, _stop teasing_!”

Fine, he can do that. Mick grins and grabs Ketch’s ass again, pushing in with one slick finger. His lover moans, and Mick echoes the sound when he finds no resistance. “More,” Ketch demands almost immediately, and Mick complies because yes, he’s certainly open enough for that. 

“Remind me to make sure you get fucked more often,” he breathes, watching Ketch shiver and rock his hips onto his fingers. “I think I like you this way.”

Ketch groans and tries to glare, but a twist of Mick’s fingers melts that expression right off his face. “Not… this often,” he gasps out, then moans when Mick finds his prostate. “Fuck!”

“Still sensitive then,” Mick purrs, grinning. He goes back for more lube, then watches as Ketch takes three fingers with a low moan and the kind of ease that tells him his lover really might be as sore as he claims. “How many times did you get fucked in the last days, Art?”

It takes Ketch a moment to answer, which might be because Mick is slowly thrusting his fingers in and out of him in a mimicry of what he _really_ wants to do. “Six times… no, seven,” he finally gasps out, then groans when Mick brushes his fingers over his prostate again. “Fuck, Mick, _please_!”

Mick growls, possessive need flaring up. “Yes,” he growls. “Slick me up, Art. Take as much as you need.”

Art trembles above him as he picks up the bottle and pours lube into his palm. Mick hisses as the cold liquid is stroked over his erection, and then Ketch pulls up off his fingers and sinks down onto his cock in a slow glide made effortless by how much lube he used. The groan still sounds as if it’s punched out of him, but Mick doesn’t sound any different. He’s pretty sure his fingernails will leave marks on Ketch’s hips, he’s gripping him so hard. 

Ketch starts moving far sooner than Mick had anticipated. He’s more vocal than ever before, more confident in his movements, and so goddamned sexy it nearly melts Mick’s brain even if it wasn’t his cock surrounded by hot, tight wetness. That it is, and that Ketch remembers just how to move to drive him insane, just adds to the experience. Mick wraps his hand around Ketch’s erection again, watches him jerk and hears him groan, and knows this isn’t going to take long at all. 

That’s alright, they can take their time with each other later. Right now, he reaches up to tangle his fingers in Ketch’s hair again, hauls him down and nips at his mouth. “You’re _mine_ ,” he rasps against Ketch’s lips, watches his eyes darken. “Remember that, Art? Remember you were _mine_ first?”

“Yes,” Ketch hisses. “Yes, Mick… _oh_!”

“ _Mine_ ,” Mick repeats as he rocks up into Ketch and keeps him bend over with a hand in his hair. “Say it!”

“Yours!” Ketch gasps out, his voice raspy with need. “Yours first, fuck, Mick!”

“Good,” Mick growls, tugging on Ketch’s hair once before letting him go. “Now ride.”

Ketch moans and sits up again, trembling as he complies with Mick’s order. He’s biting his own lip, but that doesn’t muffle the moans spilling out as he starts to truly ride Mick, sliding up until he’s almost empty before he sinks down again. His hole clenches around Mick every time he nearly slips out, going tight with each push and pull. Mick starts stroking Ketch’s cock harder, knowing he’s not going to last much longer - it’s been too long since he had this, and the knowledge that Rowena is watching them, the soft sounds of her pleasure mingling with Ketch’s rough moans, add to the fire burning in his blood.

It’s over far too soon, with nothing more than Ketch sinking down at a slightly different angle. His hips hitch as his eyes go wide, and his next slide up, then down is at that same angle. Mick groans as his hole clenches tightly around him, rocking up hard, and Ketch sobs out a moan as his cock twitches in Mick’s hand, spilling hot and wet over his fingers. Mick lets go, catches Art as he slumps forward, and rolls them over to fuck into him a few times, chasing his own orgasm. Ketch moans and clings to him, trembles in his arms, and Mick bites his throat as he comes.

“Ow,” Ketch complains mildly once they’ve both caught their breath. Mick huffs a laugh and kisses the bitemark he left behind.

“Deal with it,” he tells his lover, shifting to pull out with a low moan. Ketch groans, but doesn’t move except to stretch once, then roll onto his side. Mick snuggles up to his back, then smiles as he notices Rowena sprawled in her chair. Her cheeks are still flushed, but she looks too sated not to have gotten off.

“Come join the cuddle pile, Red,” Ketch murmurs, holding out his arm. Rowena laughs and slides out of her chair, slipping into bed with them. She pulls up the blankets from the foot of the bed, too, and then kisses them both. 

“Thank you for the show, boys.”

“Where are you going?” Mick asks with a yawn as Ketch slides out of bed two days later. “Case?”

“No,” Ketch murmurs, leaning over Mick to kiss him softly. “Just a case of Dean Winchester asking for it.”

Mick laughs and stretches before snuggling back into the covers. “Did he tease you about that bitemark again?”

Ketch shakes his head, smiling a little as he starts getting dressed in his practice clothes. Mick watches appreciatively, because Arthur Ketch in tac pants and shirt is a sight to be appreciated. “He asked for a practice match… and may have suggested a wager on the outcome. I’m going to declare British Week over, and his ass is the one who’ll find out first.”

Mick hums and contemplates getting out of bed for that… but the bed is warm and comfortable, and he’s sore from Ketch’s “revenge” earlier. “Have fun then,” he murmurs with a grin. 

“Oh, I will,” Ketch agrees. Fully dressed now, he pauses to run his fingers along Mick’s stubbled cheek. “Keep my bed warm for me, darling?”

Mick hums agreement, smiling. “For now.”

Ketch ‘s grin widens and turns into a smirk. “We’ll team up on his ass next time, then. I bet Red’s interested in that, too.”

Mick groans, because he knows Ketch is right. “Off with you,” he grouses, “you damned tease!”

Ketch laughs and heads for the door. “Love you too, Irish bastard.”

The door clicks shut before Mick can answer. He buries his silly smile in his pillow, instead. “Love you, English brat,” he murmurs.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos make an author's day! <3


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